


A Gluttonous Storm

by Frosted_King85



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Gah these Northmen are fierce, Here come's Bobby B!, Madness and stupidity, Woe to the Usurper huh?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-03 02:03:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19454083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frosted_King85/pseuds/Frosted_King85
Summary: Madness can't be predicted, only contained. See what happens when the winds of insanity blow the other way.





	A Gluttonous Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Jaime is here, but he's very minor tbh. 
> 
> This is mostly Aerys on display atm.

Year: 283ac

Jaime Lannister

_This was madness._

The court of Aerys Targaryen was no stranger to his errant mood swings, for his rages and humors danced the fragile steps of a song only the Gods heard, born as a windswept leaf in a storm lands autumn.

But for all his volatility and the insanity that led his court, and in truth, the realm as well, it was known that Aerys was paranoid, and also ultimately, a coward.

So how Jaime found himself standing in silence, as the king was outfitted in outsized armor, as he hissed and threatened his squire, an unlucky boy maybe only a few years Jaime’s junior, bearing the griffin of House Connington was beyond him.

_He can’t seriously mean to take to the field. He screams at shadows and breezes when they come unexpectedly. To face Robert on the field requires more than a thimble of courage, which is much more than he likely ever had. If the rebels see what I am, it will only strengthen their resolve._

In truth, the armor found for the king was likely some older refashioned armor from a dead relative, made smaller to fit the king’s withered frame.

His torso wore a black chainmail hauberk, slack and greedy of the meager body of the Lord Protector of the seven kingdoms. It almost swallowed him whole, so small was his standing.

No breastplate could be found to fit his shoulders, so a polished red steel gorget was worn instead. Black steel greaves and armguard bracers were stuffed with cotton to prevent them slipping down, dragons twisting around their surfaces.

Jaime thought he looked pitiful, a king in name only.

But it was apparent that Aerys saw himself as the conqueror reborn, as he nearly preened in front of the mirror.

His satisfaction made him gentle for a moment, praising the terrified Connington heir, where moments ago, he’d been threatening him.

“You did well, Ronnet.” He croaked softly, his twisted hand a claw on the boys shoulder as he looked upon his reflection. “Your stupid cousin may have failed me, but you have been honored with the chance to armor the Dragon and you have pleased me. You will hold my standard when we march upon the rebels, and it will remain high as we rout them and ride them down like the dogs they are. This is more than you deserve, but you will not fail me.” He rasped, his eyes a horrific red as they burned in satisfaction.

The boy found his knees then, shaking as he stammered out his gratitude.

“Your Grace, I-I’m yours.”

The claw on his shoulder unfurled and with almost a fatherly pat, he ushered the boy up on his feet again.

“Of course you’re mine Ronnet.”He crooned, a malicious light in his eyes. “All belongs to the Dragon, to do with as he likes.” He cupped the boy’s face then, his rictus of a grin becoming uglier if that was even possible as he spoke softly to the boy, his overgrown nails sliding through the bright red hair as he played the part of the benevolent ruler.

He turned Ronnet’s head then, to look at Jaime as he stood in a tense silence.

“But him there, he’s not really mine. He’s Tywin Lannister’s golden heir.” Aerys cackled gleefully, his face nearly pressed against the boys, cheek to cheek as they both looked at Jaime.

The pinched face of the king caught halfway between a snarl and a smile.

The boy’s face was uncertain, fright tugging at the corners of his eyes and mouth.

“They call him the lion knight, and the brightest sword of the west. And Varys tells me, they call his sister the sun of the west. Tywin was always so proud of the two children he forced on my Joanna.” Aerys sneered then, his eyes hot and yellow teeth bared.

Jaime clenched his fist then, the image of his mother nearly always able to bring him that confusing mix of joy and sadness, now just white hot rage at the possessiveness in Aery’s voice as he defiles her name with his tongue.

“See that boy, see how he tightens his fist and his cat eyes shadow?!” Aerys barked then, both fear and delight dancing in his tone. “He’d kill me if he didn’t fear me as well. All beasts must fear the Dragon. It’s the proper order of things.” He explains proudly, an almost fatherly aspect to his mood.

“Can I tell you a secret, Ronnet?” He asked conspiratorially, his hands tight on the shoulders of the boy’s tunic.

Not waiting for the boys reply, he went on, an ugly smile lacing his face as he glared at Jaime.

“Tywin Lannister is so proud of his legacy. The kingdoms speak of how he turned House Lannister’s fortunes around, and made them one of the strongest houses in the kingdom.” He bragged to the boy, contempt and malice flavoring his words. “Look at his son. Tywin himself paid for the armor, and see how it gleams? He’s a jewel among my Kingsguard, a testament to Lannister greatness. So great is House Lannister, that Tywin thought his slut daughter should be married to my heir, Rhaegar. But the Dragon is greater than the lion and wiser too. I said no, or else I might be murdered in my sleep by those he paid for, with his Lannister gold.” He snarled this now, the intensity of his feelings evidenced by the painful wince on Ronnet’s face.

Jaime was numb to this, counting the swings in his head of a phantom blade, taking the neck of his avowed king.

“But I know the truth Ronnet. I will share it with you, since you’re so good and loyal.” He affirmed, eyes never leaving Jaime’s face.

“In all the seven kingdoms, the wealthiest portion of each region is the part that a city sits in. In the savage north, that is White Harbor. In the Vale, that is Gulltown. In the riverlands, that would be MaidenPool, but it’s no true city, merely a large town. In the reach, land of the upjumped roses, it’s Oldtown. And in the west, it’s Lannisport!” He crowed, a fond light in his eyes as Ronnet ate up his words greedily.

“Do you understand where I’m taking this boy?!” He demanded a mad light in his eyes as he turned his countenance on the boy, away from Jaime.

The boy gulped and nodded slowly, as he found his tongue.\

“I think so, Your Grace. The Starks hold Winterfell, the Tullys Riverrun and the Arryns the Vale. As well as the Baratheons hold Storms End, and the Tyrells Highgarden and the Dornish Sunspear. But only the Lannisters hold Lannisport.” He finished, with an apologetic look at Jaime.

He didn’t see or register it.

“Yes boy, you DO see it!” Aerys Targaryen boasted happily, a truly ugly smile on his sunken face.

“The Lannisters are the only great house to directly control a city, taking with it the profits and revenue, as well as the taxes of a kingdom. All those western houses pay taxes to House Lannister, and let us not forget the mines their blasted castle sits on.” He bit out cruelly, his eyes back on his white armored knight.

“Tywin Lannister didn’t build Lannisport, nor did he build Casterly Rock. The mines underneath have been producing for millennia, all before his prideful ass came squealing into the world. House Lannister had the deck stacked in their favor, and they still aren’t worthy of the dragon!” He spat now, the insanity that had appeared to be banked now blazing bright. “Tywin always wanted his vile blood on the dragon’s seat, but HE’S NOT WORTHY!” Aerys bellowed, thick saliva landing on Ronnet’s cheeks.

“I’d sooner have Rhaegar leave his seed dripping on the Stark girl’s flat ass, than allow this one’s slut of a sister to lap it up off the stone floor.” He rasped, his eyes dancing a jig in his twisted face.  
“And believe me; the little slut would be happy to do it. I saw the way she hungrily followed my heir with her cat eyes in court. She’s a whore for her ambitions, and her father is her paymaster!” He roared, adding a second wave to Ronnet’s cheeks.

Jaime could see the boy fighting the impulse to wipe his face, and felt pity for a second, even as he locked himself away in his own mind, a great grey stone his mind, and Aerys a mere bat fluttering around it, squeaking his profanities. The boy however, was clearly not used to being so close to insanity, and his flinching posture made clear his fears.

No matter that the boy was an annoying prig in all the interactions they’ve had so far, in that moment, both were equally trapped in a small chamber with the living manifestation of wildfire.

Twisting and changing direction like a hare in a kennel.

“The mangy lions aren’t worthy, and now, this stupid stag thinks to claim what is by rights, the Dragon’s? How could Steffon’s boy be so stupid?” He demanded, his crimson eyes as vicious as knives as they sank into Ronnet’s face.

Jaime wasn’t sure if his king intended for Jon Connington’s young cousin to justify his liege lord’s royal ambitions, but the boy opened his mouth nevertheless.

“I’m not sure Your Grace. My cousin always said Baratheon’s force was only surpassed by his foolishness, but mayhaps-.”

The pitiful excuse for reassurance was cut short when the king clasped the boy’s cheeks with his skinny hands, the fingers cupping his cheeks, but the uncut, twisted nailed extending to the back of his neck.

_The desire to shudder must be enormous, but who knows how the madman might take such a gesture._

“Yeeeesssssssss…” Aerys drawled, as he brought his face in closer to his captive audience.

“Jon Connington is a good for nothing oaf, who squandered the chance he was given but in this, he was correct. Baratheon’s have always been mighty warriors, even going back to the ancestral Durrandons. But none have more might than the dragon. How else could we wrestle this continent of savages and sword swallowers into a kingdom worthy of remembrance?” He breathed, his close proximity to the boy setting his upper lip fuzz to visibly twitching.

“Steffon’s boy has forgotten this truth. And perhaps the realm at large as well.” He mused dangerously. “My father taught me that treason must be treated, with a mixture of strength, boldness and brutality. What is bolder than the last great dragon taking the field?” He whispered absently, his regard beyond the boy whose face he clutched.

He was somewhere beyond that room, lost in the realm of delusion and lunacy.

“My advisors beg me to let my son end this rebellion, but were he truly of any use as a son, we wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with!” He barked to no one at all, his lip curling with derision, in that way he reserved for his firstborn son. “Rhaegar started this, and it will take the true dragon to end it. He overreached with the Stark girl, and he overreached with MY Kingsguard!” The king hissed, his mind present again as he positively devoured Jaime with his eyes, possessive over his toys.

“He thinks to abscond with the girl, with my Lord Commander and my Sword of the morning as his aides?! They’re not his to do with what he pleases! They’re mine!” He screeched now, his grip tight enough that small lines of blood sprang up from where his nails pressed in on the boys face.  


“All seven swords are mine, as are the seven realms.” He growled, a familiar pout to his lips. “Lord Protector is MY title, none other.” He vowed, a murderous jealousy in his tone.

“My fat sister told me that Rhaegar would win over the stag, for he’s the dragon of our house. But she’s wrong boy. Rhaegar would rather sing than sword. He’d rather read than rut as a dragon should. He’s weak, and we would be doomed if I left it in his hands.

“So I ignored the pathetic mewlings of my useless council. They grow smaller by the day boy.” He grumbled, even as he used his own sleeves to wipe the boy’s face, making a mess of that as well, and succeeding only in spreading the spittle and blood mixture on the boys pink cheeks.

_I’ve never seen him do anything that could described as helpful, or magnanimous._

“They tell me that my sister is too far along with the babe, and it will endanger them both.” He muttered softly. “I reminded them she’s lost all the others except for my two stupid sons, so what’s one more?”

_If only the Darklyns had put a sword in his belly, rather than madness in his mind._

“All will see the dragon defeat this usurper. My useless wife and my second son, my useless good-daughter and her Dornish whelps, even that wolf whore will be on the field as I defeat this rebellion of Steffon’s boy and his dogs. Rhaegar will return my missing Kingsguard to me, and we will all see an end to this rebellion. Houses Stark, Tully and Arryn will be no more after we rout them, and the dragon will be tested no more. The true dragon and his seven will be the victors, I tell you this.” He promised darkly.

He clapped the boy on the shoulders now, after leaving his face streaked with blood.

“We will end these traitors, and you will hold my standard high, as I said before.” He said softly, the brightness of his eyes hard to look directly on. “Do well, and maybe you’ll leave the field as Ser Ronnet the Red. Fail in this task, and I’ll have your arms cut off and thrown into a fire pit, and House Connington will be no more.”

With one last glare at his leonine knight, the king swept out of the room, Ser Lewyn Martell taking his customary position behind the drooping armored form of Aerys Targaryen, the second of his name, King of the seven kingdoms.


End file.
